


What Happens In Detention

by Suzann89x



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzann89x/pseuds/Suzann89x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unfairly assigned detention with Umbridge and her torture-quill, an unlikely hero rescues the insufferable know-it-all.  Hermione begins to see her Potions teacher in a new light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Detention

“She’s a foul, evil gargoyle!” had become one of Hermione’s more frequent declarations as she, Harry, and Ron left Umbridge’s class, and that particular day had been no exception. What was different, though, was that the trio was unaware that the woman was in the hallway, as well, having left the classroom only a minute after their own departure.

“We might as well be taught by a pigeon!” Hermione continued, enraged.

Harry chuckled before his friend added with indignation, “Actually, a pigeon would probably be a better teacher than her; at least the bird would have a brain.”

“Hem hem.”

The noise stopped the friends in their tracks; Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned slowly to see their sad excuse for a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor standing behind them, her face a foul shade of red that her sweet tone failed to counter, “Pardon me, Miss Granger, perhaps I heard incorrectly, but surely you weren’t speaking so disrespectfully about a professor.”

Hermione said nothing, but the flush in her cheeks gave her away, despite her innocent expression.

“I think such disrespect merits detention,” Umbridge said, “See me this evening after supper.”

“Yes ma’am,” Hermione replied in a barely audible whisper.

Harry and Ron both gaped at Hermione as they continued through the hallway toward their next classes. No one spoke until bidding each other goodbye as Harry parted from them to the Charms classroom, Ron and Hermione heading to the dungeons to attend Potions.

Shockingly, Ron didn’t bring up the encounter with Umbridge; he and Hermione started brewing the assigned potion in silence.

Although she hadn’t said anything, rage was boiling inside Hermione with more fury than her cauldron. When she finally couldn’t contain it any longer, she loudly exclaimed, “I cannot believe I have detention!” She hadn’t realized how loudly she had cried out until she heard all conversing in the room halt abruptly, every eye on her.

With surprising slowness, Snape approached her, “Did I hear correctly? Perfect student Granger has detention? Did a teacher finally tire of your incessant arrogance?”

Hermione shook her head, “I called Umbridge a gargoyle.”  
The corner of Snape’s mouth twitched.

“A brainless gargoyle, actually,” Ron corrected.

“A brainless gargoyle,” Hermione repeated.

“I see,” Snape said before walking away. “Oh, and ten points from Gryffindor for your outburst, Granger.”

Following dinner and Harry’s somber bid of good luck, Hermione entered Umbridge’s office; it looked as though a cotton candy machine had exploded.

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” Umbridge greeted her in her sickeningly syrupy tone, “You’ll be doing lines for me.”

Hermione sat at the single desk, facing Umbridge’s own.

The teacher held out a piece of parchment and a deep red quill; Hermione took them, “What do you want me to write?”

Sitting at the desk adorned with horrendous trinkets and plaques bearing playful kittens, Umbridge replied, “How about, ‘I will respect all my teachers’? You may begin.”

Hermione cast the pink monstrosity a glare then began scratching the line onto the paper ‘I will respect all – ’ She felt a small cut being made in the skin on the back of her hand with each stroke and quickly realized that the red ink she was writing with was her own blood, the letters being carved into her hand as she wrote them.  
Appalled and sickened, Hermione shot the teacher another icy glance before an idea struck her.

Two hours later, Hermione was relieved to hear Umbridge sniff, “I think that shall be enough. You’re dismissed, Miss Granger; you can bring me your lines.”

Hermione approached the professor’s desk and handed her the paper.  
Umbridge’s eyes flitted over it before lifting to Hermione’s impassive expression, “What is this?”

“My lines, Professor.”

“You will return tomorrow evening, as well, Miss Granger.”

“Yes ma’am,” Hermione said, bowing out of the room as Umbridge opened a desk drawer and placed the paper reading repeated lines of _‘I will respect all my deserving teachers’_ in it.


	2. Rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED - PLEASE READ THE NEW VERSION  
> Hermione's detentions continue until an encounter with a usually grumpy teacher.

Harry had thought Umbridge’s blood-ink detentions were something she used specifically for The-Boy-Who-Lived, but was proven wrong when he asked how awful Hermione’s detention had been.

“She had me do lines with some sort of enchanted quill that cuts the words into your skin,” she rubbed the aching back of her hand, “but I sort of…changed the lines a bit.”

Harry frowned; Hermione showed him the back of her hand, which still bore red scratches of her words.

“You didn’t!” Harry stared at her, wide-eyed.

“What? She didn’t what?” Ron felt left out; he grabbed Hermione’s wrist and looked at her hand, “Brilliant!”

"Well, Umbridge didn't appreciate it very much --"

"– – I expect not," Harry interjected.

"I've got detention again tomorrow," Hermione said.

And so the next evening, Hermione once again entered Umbridge's office.

After greeting her, Umbridge placed a piece of paper and the vile quill on the desk Hermione was to sit at, "I think will try this again, Miss Granger; you are to write the same lines as I instructed yesterday."

Nodding, Hermione sat down and began scrawling 'I will respect all my deserving teachers'. At the end of the two hours, Hermione handed in the paper; Umbridge looked over it briefly.

"Well, Miss Granger, I suppose you'll just have to attempt again tomorrow evening."

Hermione left the office and headed to the Gryffindor common room.

* * *

 

Yet again, the following evening, Hermione added the word 'deserving’ to her assigned lines. Umbridge's reaction, however, was very different: her face turned a deep red, almost purple, and she slammed her hands on the top of her desk and stood surprisingly quickly, and shouted, " **MISS GRANGER, DO YOU FIND THIS AMUSING**?”

"No ma'am."

"You insist on continuously defying me; you will have detention until you can accurately and appropriately do the lines which I have assigned you, even if that means you have to serve detention every night until the end of the year."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

 

If nothing else, Umbridge was true to her threats; for two and a half weeks Hermione spent every evening in the teacher's office, doing lines, the words being painfully scratched into her flesh each time. Determine not let the evil gargoyle win, Hermione continued to make her alteration, adding her extra word.

By the third week of Hermione’s brutal punishment, the back of her hand had started to look very similar to ground beef. No one had questioned her about it, however.

"I don't know why you got to add that in there, 'Mione," Ron said has Hermione blew on the back of her hand, the steam from the boiling cauldrons stinging her wounded hand.

"No, Ronald, if I do that, she'll just keep on abusing her power."

Their Potions teacher descended upon them, "Enough chit chat; you are to be brewing, not conversing."

"Yes sir," Hermione replied, "sorry, sir."

"Miss Granger," Snape asked, "What is wrong with your hand? Did Potter attempt a spell?"

"N-no."

Ron answered for her, "it's Umbridge's detentions."

"Detention ** _s_**? You've had more than one?"

Hermione only nodded; saying no more, Snape walked away.

* * *

 

Once again, after supper, Hermione attended Umbridge’s detention; her hand already raw from its previous abuse, it bled more easily and more profusely. Although Hermione had waited each night until reaching her dormitory to allow herself to cry, she could feel the wet sting quickly rising in her eyes as she handed the paper to Umbridge before darting out the door.

Trudging slowly down the hallway, Hermione left her tears fall, blood freely flowing from the cuts in her hand, dripping down over the back of her fingers. As she was looking down at her feet, contemplating whether her disobedience was worth this, she walked directly into a solid and sturdy something.

"Do try to look where you're going, Miss Granger," she heard Snape's voice say.

She looked up, intending to retort with something about him not paying attention to where he was going, but realized he had just rounded a corner, "Sorry."

The Potions Master looked down at the girl, scrutinizing her.

"I-I'll try to pay more attention next time," Hermione stammered and wiped a tear from her face, leaving a streak of blood across her cheek.

Snape's eyes narrowed, "You've just left detention, haven't you?"

Hermione sniffled, "Ye-yes sir; Umbridge says I have detention every night."

"This is unacceptable.”

Seizing the shoulder of her robes, Snape whirled her around and all but dragged her down the hallway, going in the direction of the Defense of the Dark Arts classroom.

He pulled her up the stairs to Umbridge's office and threw open the door, pushing Hermione in before following.

 

“Snape!” Umbridge exclaimed, “You barge into _my_ office, without knocking!  Have you no sense?”

Ensnaring Hermione’s wrist, he shoved her bloody hand toward Umbridge, “Have _you_ no sense?  You are torturing students.”

“Are you questioning my authority, Snape?  You seem to have forgotten that it is I, not you, who is Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.”

“It’s not your authority I’m questioning, Umbridge,” Snape spoke slowly, acid dripping from his voice, “merely your sanity.” 

“Excuse me, Professor, but you are out of line!” Umbridge shouted.

Snape looked at Hermione’s mutilated hand; keeping his eyes on it, he spoke dangerously slowly, “It seems I am not the one who is out of line.  Miss Granger will not be serving any more detentions with you.”

“She must be punished, Snape!”

Glaring at his colleague, Snape snapped, “Fine.  If you insist she has detention, I will oversee it.  You will torture this girl no more.”

Umbridge scoffed, “You do realize she has detention **every** evening, don’t you?” 

“I’m aware of it,” he replied coolly.

"I will be checking to make certain she serves each and every detention, Severus."

Ensnaring Hermione's wrist once again, Snape tugged her out of the office, giving Umbridge and acidic look, "Be my guest."

Never releasing her wrist, Snape towed Hermione through the halls; when she realized they were en route to the dungeons, she found her voice, “Wh – where are you taking me?”

He rolled his dark eyes, “I’m taking you to heal your hand, of course.”

“Oh.”

Once the pair had arrived at the Potions classroom, Snape instructed Hermione to wait while he retrieved the potion.  She leaned back against a desk, wishing he had let her follow him; she would have been very interested in the items of a Potions Master’s storeroom. 

Snape returned, slowly approaching her, “Give me your hand.”

Hermione outstretched her bloody fist; Snape held her wrist as he siphoned the still-wet blood from the hand with his wand.  A frown marred his face for a moment before he flicked his wand, causing a rag to appear out of thin air.  

“Come closer,” he said as he pulled her nearer to himself.  Snape laid the cloth, which was damp with warm water, on Hermione’s hand. She watched her teacher’s hands move to thread the cloth between his fingers, wrapping them in the warm rag. Snape used a cloth-covered digit to wipe the dried blood from between her fingers.

When he had cleaned the blood from her hand, he reached into his cloak and took out a small bottle of blue liquid.  He took the stopper from the vial then placed a few drops onto Hermione’s wounded hand; the potion didn’t do anything immediately, and but it stung horrifically. After he sealed the bottle and returned it to his robes, Snape held under her wrist again, then spread the potion over her skin with his thumbs.  The wound hurt to be touched, but the teacher made sure not to use any more pressure than was necessary; this stunned Hermione. He rubbed the potion to every part of the etching in her skin before he looked at her. 

The potion on the raw carving burned worse than fire; Hermione winced, “Ow!  Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow! Is it supposed to sting so bad? Owwww!!”

Shockingly, Snape lifted Hermione’s hand and lightly blew on the searing skin. She stared blankly at her professor until he lifted his eyes to hers. 

“Did that stop the stinging?” 

She bit her lip, having forgotten why he had been blowing on her hand in the first place; she nodded. 

Snape released her hand, “It seems you have detention tomorrow, Miss Granger. I assure you I will refrain from causing any more injury.  You may return to Gryffindor Tower.”

Hermione nodded, “Thank you, sir.”  She watched him, perplexed, as he headed back to the storage closet.  Without thinking, she blurted out, “Could I see your storeroom?”

Snape turned around to give her an appraising look for a moment before he replied in an irritated tone, “Your detentions will have you organizing the shelves; you can see it then. You’re dismissed.”

Glad to see that the common room was empty, Hermione went straight to the girls’ dormitory, changed out of her robes quietly, and got into bed.

Having never spent one-on-one time with the Potions Master, Hermione idly wondered if he was just a grumpy teacher, but normal in other situations.  She had never heard a recollection of Snape being anything but a bitter, reclusive bat, much less of him confronting a fellow teacher about their treatment of a student, and she would have bet a million galleons that no one had ever dreamt he would voluntarily heal a student‘s injury, let alone do so gently and carefully.

 

Perhaps there was more to Severus Snape than met the eye.


	3. First Name-Basis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's detentions with Snape begin, and she learns that perhaps he isn't a horrible person

Hermione assumed, from his general demeanor, that Snape would not be a lenient supervisor of detentions, let alone be anything less than horribly unpleasant, but she figured it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Umbridge’s punishments.  She entered the Potions classroom the next evening feeling uncertain and stressed, and braced herself for Snape’s routine snide remarks. 

Shockingly, however, once Hermione had let the door close behind herself and made her way to the center of the room, Snape stood from his desk and swiftly approached her.  As he came to stand in front of her, she was startled by his hand taking hers; he lifted it from where it had rested at her side and surveyed the back of the hand he had healed the night before, saying, “It may still scar.”

Shrugging as he released her hand, Hermione eyed him incredulously, “So, what exactly am I going to be doing in these detentions?”

Turning in place, Snape walked away from her, “Whatever I happen to be a bit behind on – brewing simple example potions for first year students, or tediously dull tasks such as cleaning and reorganizing the storeroom, things of that nature.”

“No more bleeding, then?” 

She had said it as a joke, but Snape turned around and returned to stand in front of her, “No, Miss Granger, I will not inflict any more pain upon you; you have my word.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione replied, “So, what should I do first?”

He once again strode away from her, sitting at his desk before he answered, “You will begin brewing four cauldrons of the exact same potion. As this particular mixture must be brewed over a month’s time, that should keep you occupied for a substantial portion of each of your evenings here – at least for several weeks.”

“Oh.  Okay. What potion is it?”

Snape looked at her, his dark hair curtaining his face, “Polyjuice Potion; I believe you are familiar with it.”

She flushed; she didn’t know Snape had been certain she, Harry, and Ron had brewed the potion in their second year.

“Oh, yes, Miss Granger, I know all about your little stunt three years ago; how could I not?”

Hermione remained silent and hurried to collect the ingredients from the cabinets.  On her last trip back to the table where she would be working, she wondered why she was brewing four cauldrons of it.  As she began preparing the items, she couldn’t help but ask, “Sir, um, why do you need four of them?”

Without looking at her, the professor replied, “To demonstrate the importance of precision and diligence.” 

“Sir?”

“When the potion is all but complete, you will remove the cauldrons from the heat, I will place a preservation charm on them, and will use the almost finished potions as an example of what can happen if even a single, tiny mistake is made.”

 "Oh.”

“If you recall, simply adding the incorrect hair strand can have disastrous effects,” Snape gave her a knowing, taunting look, “I believe you spent approximately two weeks as a tabby?”

Hermione flushed again, “I didn’t know Madame Pomfrey told anyone about that.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Granger, who on Earth do you think made the antidote which returned you to your usual furless state? I thought you were intelligent.”

“Th – thank you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself; as an employee, I’m required to aid when a student is in need.”

Hermione blinked, “No, I didn’t mean for brewing the potion; I meant…well, you said I was smart.”

 

When it was clear Snape was going to give no reply, Hermione continued weighing ingredients and returned the excess to the cabinets.

Hermione stood back at the table and frowned down at the various ingredients on its surface, “Excuse me, sir…”

Sighing, Snape didn’t lift his eyes from his grading, “Hm?”

“This fluxweed was picked at a full moon, right?”

Looking up from his desk, he snapped, “Of course. Do you think I’m a fool?”

Flushing, the student fidgeted, “No sir, of course not; I just thought it’d be better if I asked.  I thought you’d prefer I was certain; No one should take chances when it comes to making potions.”

He didn’t respond.

She had measured all of the parts and laid them out and recalled that some portion needed to be stewed in preparation; Hermione consulted the book, “Professor, I’m sorry to interrupt you again, but do you have any lacewing flies already stewed, or do I need to do that, as well?”

Snape looked at her, “I’ve prepared nothing; you are to make this potion from start to finish.”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

Hermione measured the lacewing flies and the amount she would need for all of the batches into one cauldron and starting a fire under it.  She waited for the water to bubble slowly before she looked at her professor, “Alright, since that has to stew for three weeks, what should I do now?”

“Clean the scoops and scales in the back.”

“Yes sir,” she headed to the back of the classroom where a mound of measuring cups, metal scoops, and tiny spoons sat on a counter.

 

It only took Hermione ten minutes to reach the last twenty or so items.  She felt a presence behind her, but continued her work, scourgifying the lingering powder and sludge from the items.

 Snape spoke from behind her as she set the last cleaned scoop on the counter, “I don’t recall permitting you to use your wand, Miss Granger.”

 Feeling her face burn with embarrassment, she watched as the spotless metal she had just cleaned became filthy once again as Snape said, “ _explico_.”

“By hand, this time, Granger. Your parents are Muggles; you should be well-practiced in doing dishes,” he said before leaving to return to his desk.

 

As the lacewing flies had to stew for three weeks prior to actually making the potion, Hermione had the repetitive and monotonous task of hand washing all of the items the students had used in class that day.

 

* * *

 

Halfway through the second week of her detentions, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see that there were only half as many things to be washed as usual that day; when she had finished, which only took her half an hour, she cautiously approached Snape's desk and cleared her throat.

 He didn't acknowledge her, however, until the third time she had cleared her throat, at which point he sharply looked up at her and snapped, "Yes, Miss Granger?"

 Hermione fidgeted, "Well, there were near as many things to wash today, so I'm already done and was wondering what I should do now."

 Looking irritated, he responded in an extremely aggravated, very perturbed, but unwillingly resigned tone, "I suppose I should give you another task."

 The professor thought for several long seconds before giving a restrained groan, "Madam Pomfrey has informed me that she is running low on Sleeping Draught; I suppose I could allow you to assist."

 "Really?  Um… Okay."

 Stepping into an empty student table, gesturing for Hermione to follow, Snape summoned a cauldron and instructed Hermione to collect the required ingredients from the cabinets.  When she returned, arms laden with wormwood, valerian roots and flobberworms, she looked at Snape expectantly.

"The instructions are on page 784, Miss Granger," Snape said as he slid the book across the table to her.

She quickly found the page, idly commenting, "I honestly don't know why you refuse to use my first name; it's not Tabooed or anything."

 He didn't look at her, "I am aware of that."

"I mean, I don't think you've ever said it; do you even know my first name?" Hermione smirked.

"Don't be ridiculous; of course I know it’s Hermione."

She almost giggled it sounded so funny coming out of his mouth, "No, you had never said it until just now. I actually think you should start using my first name and stop calling me Miss Granger - that sounds so formal." 

His expression was unfathomable, "I think not."

"Well, what if I just stop responding to 'Miss Granger’? You would _have_ to call me Hermione if you wanted my attention," for a moment, she had forgotten who she was talking to; surely Severus Snape would never allow her to get away with talking to him like that.

"Doing that would only increase the severity of your punishment."

She rolled her eyes, "Really? ' Increase the severity of my punishment'? I already have detention every single night; how much worse could it get?"

He narrowed his eyes at her for several long moments then spoke, "I must admit you make a valid point, Miss Granger."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hermione," it was physically painful for him to casually address her like that.

She grinned victoriously, "I don't expect you to do that during classes, of course; what would the other students say?"

It was clear on her professor’s face that he was beyond relieved.

"Oh, come on, it's not like I intend to call _you_ by _your_ first name."

"That's damn good news.  Now, that's enough socializing; back to work, Miss Granger," he paused, "Hermione."

She shook her head, sighing, then began crushing the lavender in a mortar.  As she turned the flower into a fine dust, she glanced at her unoccupied teacher, “You said I could _assist_ , not that I should do it entirely myself.”

“Are you planning to scold me, _Hermione_?” Snape’s voice was bitter, sarcastic, and minutely amused.

“No; I didn’t mean –” Hermione was so flustered and panicked at the knowledge that he thought she was getting onto him that her voice shook slightly, “I was – just being…well…cheeky.  Sorry, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, “Clearly.”

“It seems I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” the student sighed, “I mean, I wouldn’t have detention if I hadn’t.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at her, “Yes, I’m still not certain why Umbridge gave you such a lengthy sentence of detention.”

Her face burning with embarrassment, Hermione explained, “You know Umbridge assigns lines, with that quill that uses blood as the ink.” Snape nodded, so she continued, “Well, I sort of changed what she wanted me to write…”

“Go on…”

“The line she wanted me to write was ‘ _I will respect all my teachers’_.”

“And you changed it how?” Snape furrowed his brow curiously.

“Instead, I wrote ‘ _I will respect all my **deserving** teachers’,_ honestly,” she admitted, looking guilty.

Hermione expected another scolding from him, but Snape, instead, laughed.

From that evening, Hermione’s detentions were changed by the professor and herself casually conversing; she slowly realized that Snape wasn’t necessarily a mean man, but that he was a perfectionist who would accept nothing but the best, and that he was bitter from his past – she assumed from his spying on Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  

* * *

 

 

One evening, Snape informed Hermione that she would be organizing and sorting his storeroom.   Hermione smiled broadly and dashed behind him; he raised an eyebrow.

Snape opened the door to his storeroom and stepped inside.  Hermione entered behind him, looking around curiously; it was essentially a large closet, big enough only for three people, or two people and a ladder, which was the current circumstance; the walls were lined with shelves that were stocked with different sized bottles, oddly shaped boxes, and jars with various things floating in liquid.  Hermione read label after label, squinting at some that were faded, Snape’s scrawl only barely visible.  She saw, on the other side of the ladder, a glass container that held what looked like four tiny brains. She eagerly leapt toward the jug, her foot catching on a leg of the ladder; the ladder toppled, crashing into a wall of shelves. 

Without what had happened even registering, Hermione was shoved against the shelves, Snape’s arms on either side of her, his hands on the wood of the storage furnishings, his body hunched over hers as bottles rained down around them, glass shattering and potions sizzling. Hermione closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to have to face what her clumsiness had done, and ducked her head. She felt Snape’s hair brush over the top of her head as he looked around.

Snape straightened slowly, perplexed by the girl’s head buried in his chest.  He placed his hands on her shoulders to move her from him, but she bent farther into him; he frowned. Instinctually, he shoved her away from his body, “You stupid girl!  Do you realize how dangerous some of these potions are?”  He whipped her around so she could see the damage the green acid had done, “If that can eat away stone, what do you think it could do to human flesh?  It would destroy every layer of your skin then disintegrate your bone to dust.” 

He heard her sniffle. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione muttered into her hands before lifting her eyes to his face; it had drained of all blood until it was a dusty grey, causing him to look as though he had been powdered with chalk. She looked around the closet; shards of glass were everywhere, a pink liquid was foaming and on a ladder rung, producing heart-shaped bubbles that floated up and drifted happily on the air, a purple sludge was oozing down the wall like putty, and a green acidic potion was sizzling on the floor.  There were several shallow craters in the stone, smoke fizzling from them.

Hermione looked back at Snape, awaiting the scolding. However, he was gritting his teeth, his dark eyes slowly surveying; he noticed the pink heart-shaped bubbles and pursed his lips. 

“Um, Professor…?” she said timidly.

He looked at her, “You are causing all sorts of problems today, Miss Granger.”

“S-sorry.  I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

 Snape ignored her statement, “Did anything touch you? Even a single drop of some liquids would have disastrous - even fatal - effects.”

 She blinked rapidly, “Wh-what? No sir, you shielded me…thank you.”  Hermione chewed her lip then threw her arms around Snape’s neck, briefly hugging him in gratitude.

“Miss Granger, are you positive nothing spilt on you?”

Hermione looked quizzically at him, “I’m certain, Professor; why?”

Snape’s dark eyes didn’t quite meet her brown ones, “One of the shattered bottles contained Amortenia, and you – you…embraced me.”

Hermione looked down, “Professor, why do you think I’d have to be under the influence of a love potion to hug you?”

Snape said nothing as he slowly closed his eyes, attempting to settle his nerves.

Watching her teacher struggle to contain himself, Hermione’s heart broke when she realized he didn’t think anyone could hug him unless they were influenced by magic; she didn’t know what made her do it, but she took his hand slowly and wrapped her arms around him again.

She felt him shudder slightly, but a moment went by and he snaked his arm around Hermione’s back. 

“I’m sorry, Professor Snape,” she mumbled against his shoulder.

 Snape’s hand moved to the side of Hermione’s face while the other pushed her back against the shelves; he looked at her for several moments and she stared back.  A small, faint smile flitted across Snape’s face before he lowered his lips to hers. Blindsided, Hermione reacted the only way she could; she let her eyes close and wrapped her arm around Snape’s neck, pulling him down toward her while the fingers of her other hand clutched the front of his robes.  He moved his mouth slowly over hers, not feverishly as side effects of a love potion would cause. Snape’s hand moved to her hip as the other cradled her neck; Hermione parted her lips as his tongue requested entrance.  He passionately, yet slowly, kissed her, brushing his tongue over hers, lightly scraping his teeth on her lower lip as his hand slid down her neck.  Gradually, Snape tapered off before breaking the kiss.

“Miss Granger,” his voice was even quieter than usual, barely a whisper, “It seems that the Amortentia affected me; I sincerely apologize. I can assure you that, had I not have been under its influence, I would never have…” he cleared his throat, “You should return to your dormitory.”

Snape turned and left the storeroom. As he walked away, Hermione noticed that there were no wet spots on his cloak, and that his hair was not even damp. She emerged from the closet and hesitantly returned to the classroom; he was sitting at his desk, his back to her, so she took the opportunity to look for any sign that a potion had spilt on him. Even as she got closer to him, Hermione saw no evidence that he had been victim of a potion.

She slowly walked around to the front of his desk and looked at him; she cleared her throat, “Professor, you weren’t under the influence of any potion, were you?” 

Snape blinked once then shuffled some papers on his desk before looking at her, “Neither were you, Miss Granger.”


	4. Unexpected

It had been three weeks, and the lacewing flies for the Polyjuice Potion had stewed for twenty-one days so Hermione began to divide the proper amount into each cauldron.

Snape commented, “You should clean the cauldron you used to prepare those; even a small amount more of them in a brew could ruin the potion.”

Hermione nodded as Snape left for the storeroom.

 

She had distributed the lacewing flies and was at the sink, washing the cauldron, when Snape returned.  He approached the sinks, silently standing behind her.

“Why are you not using your wand? That could have been done a hundred times by now,” Snape said in a tone somewhere between accusatory and curious, “And look, you’ve soaked my floor.  You’ll slip in that.”

Hermione, startled by his sudden appearance, jumped slightly before turning to face him, “You said I couldn’t use magic,” she headed toward the free counter, “Have you changed your mind?”  She stepped in the pool of water on the floor, her foot slid out from under her, and she careened backward toward the ground.

Reflexively, Snape caught her mid-fall, one hand on her waist, the other hand clutching hers. 

Snape’s dark eyes scanned his student; he released her hand to place it on her waist, as well.  Stepping slightly closer to her, he lowered his mouth to hers slowly.  She didn’t pull from him, didn’t push him from her; instead, she leaned into him and allowed his lips to brush against hers once again. Realizing this, Snape moved his hands to either side of her neck as he let a bit of passion creep into the kiss, his tongue slid over hers as it explored her mouth.  Hermione lifted her wrists to let them rest on her teacher’s shoulders before moving her hands to the back of his head in an attempt to pull him nearer.  In response, Snape slid his hands farther back on her neck, wanting to urge her closer as well.

They kissed for several minutes before Snape gradually retreated; he looked at her for a moment, “I warned you that you might slip.”

Hermione smiled through a blush, “You’re right; you did.  I should have listened to you.”

Snape pushed a wayward piece of her hair out of her face, “I must admit, I’m glad you didn’t.”

 “So am I,” she looked at him, slightly embarrassed, “Good – goodnight, Professor,” she stood slightly on her toes to briefly brush her lips on his, then left the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione rolled over in her bed, grinning to herself as she recalled the prior evening.

“What’s got you so goofy?” Ginny asked her friend.

Pulling the covers over her face, Hermione shook her head, “Nothing.  Just had a good dream is all.” 

Making a face, the red-haired girl asked, “Do I want to know?  Or is it…private?”

Quickly sitting up to throw a pillow at Ginny, Hermione laughed, “Uh, _no._ Geez, Ginny, get your head out of the gutter!”

The two girls dressed, the Weasley constantly badgering Hermione about her ‘dream’, “Come on, Hermione, just tell me! I swear I won’t say anything!”

“Would you just stop asking?”

They had made it to the common room.

“Asking what?” Ron asked.

“Mind your business, Ron,” Ginny snapped.

Grumbling, her brother flopped onto a sofa, “Just wanted to be involved.”

Harry joined them in the common room, asking, “Involved in what?”

“Ginny’s keeping secrets,” Ron accused.

“Am not!  If anyone’s keeping secrets, it’s Hermione,” Ginny retorted, “She was dreaming about a boy and won’t tell me who!”

“A boy?” Ron asked, now very interested, “Which boy, ‘Mione?”

Hermione sat in a chair, sighing, “I _actually_ never said it was about a boy, thank you.” 

She could barely get the words out before Ginny jumped in, “Well, was it?”

Remaining silent, Hermione attempted to call Crookshanks to her.

“Was it?” Harry asked.

“Why do you guys care?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Ginny sat beside Harry.

“Well,” Ron huffed, “Who was it, then?”

Looking back and forth between the boys, she groaned before settling on a response, “It doesn’t matter; you guys would lecture me nonstop if I told you.”

“Could I at least win a duel against him?”

She couldn’t help but giggle to herself at Ron’s question, “Not a chance.”

Hermione’s three friends interrogated her the entire day; it was exhausting – she had hoped to spend the Saturday working on papers for her classes, but couldn’t go five minutes without facing a barrage of questions.

She had tried to escape to the library, but Ron had followed her, throwing nonstop guesses at her, “Is it Seamus?  Dean?  _Oh, god_ , is it Neville?” 

Ginny always seemed to need to use the restroom at the same time as Hermione, asking through the stall door, “Is he blonde? Does he have blue eyes? Is he in your year?”

Hermione left the stall, “No, no, and no; now drop it, Ginny.”

Harry questioned her over dinner so much that she was unusually relieved to be exiting the Great Hall.  On her way through the corridor back to Gryffindor tower, Snape approached her, “Miss Granger, do you realize what time it is?”

She blinked, “No – no sir, I would guess 7…”

Harry leaned in to her and whispered, “It’s 8, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Mister Potter,” Snape said sarcastically before addressing Hermione again, “He is correct, Miss Granger; it’s 8 p.m. and you are late for detention.”

“I – I didn’t think I had detention on weekends, sir.”

“Ignorance of the rules does not make you immune to them; my classroom, now,” he said, turning to swiftly walk down the hallway.

Hermione looked to her friends, “I guess I’ll see you later.”

She then trotted to follow Snape; it wasn’t until she was deep in the dungeons that she caught up to him, “Professor, I’m really sorry.  I’ve never had detention on a weekend; I didn’t know I had detention tonight.”

“You don’t,” Snape said as they arrived at the Potions classroom.  He opened the door and went inside.

Hermione frowned; she knew that this could lead to trouble, but she followed him into the room anyway.

She was barely in the door before Snape pinned her to the wall, his hands on either side of her face, his mouth consuming hers.

Caught off guard, Hermione froze for a moment before letting herself surrender to his kiss.  This encounter was more heated than either of their previous ones; Snape’s tongue pushed into her mouth with urgency, he bit her bottom lip, and his hands ran down her sides to hold her hips. Hermione had trouble keeping her mind clear; she didn’t want things to get out of hand, but Snape’s teeth scraping over her lip and the way he lightly sucked on her tongue was making it very hard not to succumb. 

Hermione gently pushed him from her, “Professor…this…we…” 

Nodding once, Snape ran his fingers through his hair, “Right.”

“Wh – why did you say I had detention?”

“I didn’t want to have to wait three days to do that,” she thought maybe Snape blushed slightly when he said this.

“Well,” Hermione bit her lip, “I’m here now,” she smiled, “but no funny-business, mister,” she pointed a finger at him in mock-scolding.

“I apologize.  No funny-business,” Snape said before returning his lips to hers, this time holding her hands as he kissed her slowly.

Hermione could have imagined Snape being a fiery, passionate, hungry kisser, but this was something she would never have thought he would do; he was barely brushing his mouth over hers, gently and softly moving his lips against her own, tenderly kissing her with care. She was so impressed by this that it didn’t register immediately when he moved his hands to lace his fingers through hers.

As her professor was ever so sweetly kissing her, Hermione felt a swell in her chest and a sense of completeness in her stomach; she realized that this was more than a silly girly crush on a teacher – she genuinely cared about the Potions Master.


	5. A Selfish Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Ron have a suspicion about who Hermione has a 'crush' on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the formatting; I couldn't get the site to cooperate with the damned HTML format.  
> I suck. :/  
> Sorry it took so long for me to update this story.

Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room, in a daze.  What was she thinking? How could she have let this happen? Of course, Snape was a brilliant wizard, intelligent and respectable; she had always admired his intellect, but this – _this_ was something altogether different than appreciating his talents.  Hermione walked through the living area, her mind hazy, and went to the girls’ dormitory.

 

Although she constantly dreamt of her Potions teacher, Hermione woke on Sunday feeling well-rested and alert.

 

Ginny, Harry and Ron resumed their questions about Hermione’s supposed infatuation with a boy, but at least the inquiries weren’t as constant as the previous day.  No questions were asked over supper, but, as they stood from the table, Harry frowned at Hermione, “Hey, it’s 7, Hermione; don’t forget detention.”

 

Flustered, she thanked him, “Right. I suppose I should go there now; Snape won’t forgive two nights of being late.”

She knew she didn’t _actually_ have detention, but Hermione went to Snape’s classroom anyway.

 

She knocked on the door; it cracked open so she went in. 

Snape sat at his desk and when he looked up to see her, he spoke, “What are you doing here?”

 

Hermione approached his desk, “I have detention, don’t I, sir?”

 

Standing, the man rubbed his forehead, “I behaved inappropriately last evening; forgive me.”

 

She shrugged, “It’s okay.”

 

He cast her a skeptical look before summoning a chair next to his, “Sit.”

 

Hermione took a seat and eyed him as he sat as well.

 

“Here,” Snape took several pieces of parchment from the stack before him and placed it on the desk before his student, “Don’t be too lenient.”

 

Hermione sighed in amusement and began to grade the First Years’ quizzes.

 

What are the two main uses of ginger root? cooking , ending the runs

 

Hermione snorted at the student’s response.

 

Snape looked at her, “Something amusing?”

 

“This answer!”

 

“Whose test is that?”  Snape asked.

 

Hermione looked at the top corner to read the name, “Jon Belby.”

 

Looking worn, the professor sighed, “That dunderhead. What did he do now?”

 

Passing the parchment to her teacher, Hermione wondered what his reaction would be; his eyes found the question she had found amusing and he shook his head in exasperation.

 

He handed her the paper, “Half credit.”

 

“Wh – what?  Are you serious?”

 

Snape turned to her, “He may have been being cheeky, but the boy is correct; ginger is very often used in cooking.”

 

Hermione blinked in astonishment, “Really?”

 

“Yes; Asian cuisine frequently calls for it.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Hermione explained, “I was just surprised that you’re giving him any credit; clearly that isn’t a use in Potions.”

 

He frowned, “Indeed, but the subject isn’t very different from cooking, if you think about it.”

 

She cleared her throat before asking, “You’re really, really good at Potions,” she saw Snape look proud for a brief moment, “Does that mean you’re a good cook?”

 

Snape didn’t look up from his grading, “I am an excellent cook.”

 

“Without magic?”

 

Hermione saw him roll his eyes as he replied, “Of course.  Where’s the pleasure in it if you use spells?”

 

She frowned, quietly commenting to herself, “I don’t believe it.”

 

Abandoning his grading and setting his quill down, Snape leaned in to her and brought his mouth very close to her ear to say quietly, “If I must, I will prove it to you,” he placed his hand on Hermione’s knee and lightly kissed the skin below her ear.

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said as they returned to grading the tests.

 

Hermione found that she greatly enjoyed conversing with Snape; they would sometimes spend an entire detention session grading only a single class’s assignments because they talked at length.

 

 

 

Hermione sat at a table in the nearly-empty common room finishing an essay McGonagall had assigned; she was very glad Harry, Ron, and Ginny were out on the grounds playing Fanged Frisbee – they still had not let up on their inquisition of her. 

 

She scrawled the closing sentence to her paper and sighed, moving to a plush sofa.  Seamus came into the room, looked around, then sat beside Hermione, even though there was another sofa and plenty of chairs, “Hey, Hermione.”

 

“Hello, Seamus,” she shifted, attempting to move her thigh away from his that was against it.

 

“I hear you’ve had a record number of detentions,” he said conversationally.

 

Hermione laughed quietly, “I certainly have had a lot.”

 

“Takes up all your free time, does it?”

 

“Pretty much,” she sighed; _where was this going?_

 

“Too bad; means I don’t get to see you as much.”

 

_ Oh.  That’s where it was going. _

 

Hermione fidgeted, “I…uh…”

 

Seamus wound his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

 

“Seamus, I – ”

 

The portrait entrance opened; Ginny and Ron spotted the pair on the couch.

 

“I knew it was Seamus you liked!” Ginny exclaimed.

 

“Ginny – ” Hermione started, but the room flooded with Gryffindors returning from various activities.

 

Hermione liked Seamus quite a bit, but only as a friend, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she had no idea what to say to him. That was the reason that, when outside the Potions classroom, as she left his side to attend the lesson, she had no clue how to react when Seamus kissed her cheek.

 

“Thirty points from Gryffindor, Mister Finnigan,” Snape said, seeing the Seamus press his lips to the girl, “Miss Granger, see me after class.”

 

Hermione struggled to think of why Snape wanted to see her; he could have just taken more points from their House. So it was with not even the vaguest idea of a reason that she stayed behind when the lesson was over.

When she and Snape were the only left in the room, he spoke, “Before class…what exactly happened with Mister Finnigan?”

 

“What?”

 

Standing from his desk, Snape approached her, “Did he not kiss you?”

 

Hermione fidgeted, “On the cheek...”

 

“Are the two of you…an… _item_?”

 

She furrowed her brow.

 

Snape looked at her, “Are you _dating_ him?”

 

Hermione sighed, “No.  But, why do you ask?”

 

Stepping closer to her, Snape took her hands, “I’m a selfish man; I want you to myself.”

 

Flattered and surprised, Hermione blushed. Snape lifted her chin and brought his mouth to hers.

 

That evening’s detention was spent with little words; Snape demonstrated to her just how skilled of a kisser he was, his hands cupping her face and cradling her waist.  Hermione didn’t want to leave the Potions classroom when the time was over; she stayed for an extra hour, relishing his lips on hers. 

 

“I really have to go,” she mumbled as his mouth moved over her jawline.

Snape ignored her and held her waist as she made to slide off his desk, where she was perched. 

 

“They know I’m in detention,” Hermione mentioned Potter and Weasley, “They’ll notice if I’m too late.”

Snape’s hand lay on her knee as he stepped closer to her, standing between her legs, “Stay.” 

Hermione groaned, “You know I want to. But you also know I can’t.”

She was very aware of exactly what would happen if she stayed, and she didn’t think she was quite ready to lose her virginity; that was something she needed to be certain about.  So she slid from the desktop, kissed her professor one last time, then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this story, please comment & tell me! I've nearly given up on stories before because I didn't think anyone liked them...


	6. Crappy Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas vacation has Snape and Hermione apart and neither of them are very happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super short chapter - a necessary one, but I didn't want the beginning of the next one at the end of this one. I'm not sorry.

The day before Christmas break, Hermione could think of little else but how hard it would be to not see Snape for two weeks; she had grown accustomed to spending her evenings with him. Toward the end of the day, she began to have another concern: would she even be able to tell him goodbye properly?

 

It was nearing 9pm when Snape approached her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, “Miss Granger, could I have a word?”

 

Hermione stood, “Of course.”

 

Knowing that her friends were watching, Hermione walked a pace behind Snape until they were out of sight.

  

 

“I have something for you,” Snape said once they were in his classroom.

 

Hermione looked at him suspiciously, “What are you talking about?”

 

The professor went to his desk, took something from a drawer, and returned to his student, his hand closed around something, “Turn around,” he said to her.

 

Hermione turned her back to him, bewildered and curious as to what in the world was going on.  She could feel him moving behind her, and his arms came over her head briefly before she felt something cold and hard against her collarbone. His fingers brushed over the back of her neck before he stilled, “Happy Christmas.”

 

She looked down, realizing he had just adorned her with a necklace; she gasped when she saw the pure blue stone dangling from a silver chain.

 

“It’s – wow!” she spun to him and threw her arms around his neck, “I’ve never seen a stone like this!  What is it?”

 

“Lapis lazuli; I thought you might like it,” Snape answered.

 

“It’s beautiful!”

 

Snape smiled, “It’s similar to you in that regard.”

 

Hermione pressed her lips to his suddenly; she held his face in her hands as she passionately kissed her teacher. Snape took her waist and was happy to return her affections. 

She pulled slightly away from him to look at his face, “You’re amazing.  I feel so stupid; I don’t have anything for you.”

 

“Nonsense.”

 

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him down to her mouth, eager to continue allowing her tongue to venture into his mouth.  She was very certain this time that she wanted to stay with him that night.

Snape ended the heated moment, “The train leaves early tomorrow.”

Swallowing hard, her throat tightening from the embarrassment of rejection, Hermione nodded, “Okay. I guess I’ll see you next year.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was the first time since Hermione had attended Hogwarts that she counted down the days until returning from Christmas break.

“Hermione, darling, what a beautiful necklace! Where did you get that?” Hermione’s mother questioned when the necklace had fallen out of her shirt as she bent over; she had worn the lapis lazuli every day, but under her shirt to avoid questions.

 

“Oh, it was a gift,” she said dismissively.

 

“That’s some gift,” her dad said, “I’d say it’s pure sapphire.”

 

Hermione fingered the stone, “It’s lapis lazuli, actually.”

 

Her parents exchanged a look before her mom said, “Hermione, sweetheart, that is a very rare stone.”

 

Hermione spent the Christmas holiday being questioned about the necklace as she had been about her ‘crush’.

 

Once back at Hogwarts, Hermione eagerly awaited detention, so she could be alone with Snape.

She knew she had missed him, but she hadn’t realized how much until she entered his classroom that evening and saw the Potions Master.

 

“How was your holiday?” she asked.

 

“Mediocre at best,” Snape replied, “I must admit, your absence was the main cause of my suffering.  How was yours?”

 

Hermione could barely contain the joy it gave her to hear that Snape had missed her; she sighed, “Awful.  Horrible.  Worst ever.”

 

“And why was that?”

 

Hermione sighed, “Because you weren’t there.” Her eyes met his from across the room; she bolted to him and threw her arms around him, “I missed you so much.”

 

Snape’s arms wound around her, “I’m boycotting holidays from now on.”

 

She nodded and snuggled into his chest.

 

“I thought I would prove my cooking ability this weekend,” Snape rested his chin on top of her head, “If you’re agreeable.”


	7. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape cooks dinner for Hermione. They're in his private quarters [dot dot dot]

Wow, Hermione,” Ginny said over dinner, “That’s a beautiful necklace.”

 

Hermione had decided that she could tell anyone at school who asked about the necklace that her parents had given it to her.

 

When Hermione told Snape of this conclusion Friday evening, he nodded, “Good idea; I doubt the real source would be accepted.”

 

“I know; I’m sorry.  I just figured it would get you in trouble.”

 

“I’m sure it would,” he commented before starting toward a door at the back of the classroom, “Dinner?  I hope you haven’t forgotten.”

 

“Nope,” Hermione followed him through the door; the room they entered was a small living room, walls lined floor-to-ceiling with books, a deep brown sofa, an armchair and matching ottoman.

 

“Come,” Snape said, motioning for her to join him in another room. 

Hermione then found herself in another small room; a dining table for no more than three people sat on a dark rug.

 

He stood by one of the dining chairs, “Sit.”

 

Hermione obeyed, but frowned at him, “Don’t boss me.”

 

Smirking, Snape left through a swinging door.

Hermione looked around, impressed by the simplistic elegance of Snape’s quarters.

 

Returning a few moments later, Snape set a plate in front of Hermione; the smell of the food was enough to make her mouth water before she even looked to see what he had served.  She watched Snape sit across the table from her; Hermione frowned. She picked up the plate before her and pulled her chair around the table to sit at the side of the table by his. At this, Snape raised an eyebrow at her; she just smiled, placing her hand on his knee under the table.

 

Hermione was in awe at the food on her plate; Snape had made Roasted Lobster Tails paired with a Ginger Sauce.  Snape stood and left, returning with a bottle of champagne; he poured her a glass, saying, “It’s a sin to have lobster without this.”

She ate slowly, savoring the sweet flavor of the lobster, sipping on the bubbly drink; Snape finished eating before her and took his plate to the little kitchen.  Hermione wiped her hands on her napkin as she finished.  Snape joined her once again in the dining room; he set a tall glass bowl of chocolate mousse in front of her, moving her dinner plate aside before sitting next to her with his own mousse.

 

They soon both finished their desserts; Snape looked at her, “Done?”

 

She nodded, “It was delicious. Thank you.”

 

Standing, he picked up their dishes, “Feel free to go to the sitting room; I won’t be long.”

 

Hermione left to the room she had first entered and sat on the sofa.  She waited several minutes before saying, “You’ve proven you can cook; no need to show your cleaning ability.”

 

A moment later, her professor joined her on the couch, kissing her softly.  Scooting closer to him, Hermione wound her arms once again around his neck.

 

She felt his hands run down her sides as he moved his lips to her neck; Hermione squirmed.  Snape lightly bit her neck, sliding his hands under the hem of her shirt. She bit her bottom lip as he pulled the shirt over her head to toss it to the floor.  Snape grazed his hand up her stomach to cup her breast, making Hermione attack his mouth again, passion overwhelming her. Once again, Snape ended the kiss; he looked at her, “No; not here.”

He stood, pulled Hermione up, then led her to a warmly-decorated bedroom before kissing her slowly but passionately. Snape guided his student to sit on the bed then resumed his claim on her neck.  He dexterously unclasped Hermione’s bra and peeled it from her, cupping her breast as his tongue returned to her mouth.  His other hand cradling Hermione’s head, Snape lowered her to a pillow. She looked up at him, amazed by the perfection of her Potions teacher.  He stood to remove his cloak before hovering over her, gently bathing her jaw and neck in kisses.  She sat up to help undo the buttons of his shirt, then watched, hypnotized as he shrugged out of it; Snape was not a sculpted man, but he was obviously strong and muscular. Hermione ran her fingers over his chest. After lying her back on the bed, Snape resumed dragging his mouth along her skin as he felt and massaged her breasts.  He kissed the front of her neck before taking a nipple in his mouth; Hermione sighed. His fingertips brushed over her sides as he lightly rolled the nub between his teeth.  Snape appreciated her soft skin by trailing his lips down Hermione’s stomach.  He returned to her mouth, letting his hand slide up her thigh, under her skirt. His fingers reached their goal, feeling through the girl’s panties that she was damp.  Snape rose to his knees, unbuttoned and unzipped Hermione’s skirt, then pulled it off.  She was glad when he returned to attend to her neck, which craved his mouth. Nibbling and suckling on her flesh, Snape brushed his hand back up her thigh to touch her through the fabric of her panties.  Hermione whimpered. He moved the panties aside and touched her body.  Without returning to his knees, Snape peeled them from her and urged her legs open with his hand. Hermione squirmed as his fingers massaged her, her body begging for more.  Snape kissed his student as his fingers spread the folds between her thighs; his thumb massaged her pearl and he pushed his tongue into her mouth when his fingers slipped up inside her cavern.  Unable to believe that this was real, Hermione began to pant under his touch. Snape’s fingers were skilled; he soon felt her body tense beneath him.  Hermione couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t focus; she couldn’t think anything besides _please.  please.  please._ She didn’t know what she was requesting exactly, only that she never wanted her teacher to stop what he was doing.  She suddenly gasped for air, overcome with waves of ecstasy, and, as a loud moan of appreciation escaped her, she realized it didn’t matter what she was begging for, that nothing mattered, not a single thing. 

 

She slowly calmed; when she opened her eyes, she saw Snape smirking at her.  Hermione blushed. Snape kissed her neck, chest, and stomach, lowering his mouth to her body.

Hermione had assumed that having a man’s head between her legs would be awkward, but she felt nothing but comfort and pleasure as he ran his tongue over her and suckled skillfully; he had her writhing beneath him, experiencing another bout of blissful tremors, soft moans escaping her, before he would stop tasting her.

 

Hermione wriggled in a feeble attempt to get out from under him; her body was weak and exhausted, but she still wanted to give him pleasure.  Snape chuckled, shaking his head, “Don't.”

 

She panted, pouting, “But I shouldn't get all the fun.”

Snape looked down into her eyes, “You're not. I enjoy seeing you like this,” he grazed the tip of his finger down her cheek, “Even more so knowing I'm causing those delicious sounds you're making.”

 

Hermione sighed in defeat.  Snape resumed kissing Hermione’s neck, shoulders, and lips as he moved his hips to between her legs. 

Honestly, Hermione was a bit worried that her first time would be painful, but when she looked up at her professor, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her.

 

He looked into her eyes, furrowing his brow slightly in a silent question if she was alright; Hermione remained silent, but arched her back slightly in response.  She felt Snape’s rigid member part her folds and inch into her body; he was very slow so as not to cause her pain, but as he entered the innocent body, he found himself struggling to restrain his instincts.  Snape gently and gradually pushed himself into her, alternating between kissing her neck and watching her face for any sign indicating he should stop. Hermione made no protests, instead, she whined in his ear and gasped out his name.

 

She desired more; she needed more, “Please don’t stop,” she breathed in his ear.

 

Looking at her, Snape abandoned her neck and instead consumed her mouth as he began to move with more certainty and less caution within her, pushing himself deep in Hermione, his entire length sheathed by her deliciously snug body. She rolled her hips beneath Snape, her body desperate for him.  Hermione tensed again before shrieking as she was possessed by pleasure.

Snape looked pleased at her enjoyment, sucking on her neck and groaning in his chest.  His movements became more stiff and less rhythmic, then he growled as he shuddered, erupting inside her.

He kissed Hermione lazily, out of breath.

She was panting below him, her body still trembling.

Snape leisurely moved his mouth across her jawline, down her neck, over her heaving chest, and onto her stomach. Hermione pet his hair as he brushed his lips on her stomach.

 

He mumbled into her skin, “My god, that was incredible.”

 

She smiled to herself, breathing heavily still, “Definitely.”

 

Pushing himself up to lie beside her, Snape looked at Hermione then pulled her head to lie on his rapidly rising and falling chest. Snape kissed her forehead, which was damp with sweat and absentmindedly traced his fingers over her shoulder.

Making a contended noise, Hermione snuggled into his chest; Snape sighed.


End file.
